


Hallmark Hullabaloo

by facetiousfutz



Category: South Park
Genre: A Love Letter to South Park As a Whole, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Embarrassment, Fangirls, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Satire, South Park 2102 - Put it Down, Valentine's Day, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetiousfutz/pseuds/facetiousfutz
Summary: “Oh, that’s right,” said Cartman. “You think having a bunch of dumb girls running wild with your image was bad? Try corporate America. Hell, Hallmark might even sue you for imitating their product now. But it was soooo hard to get in on that, wasn’t it? Bet you wished you cared now, huh?”“He’s got a point,” said Kyle. “You two really fucked up.”“Argh?!” said Tweek. “What? What are they talking about, Craig?”“Nothing at all, dear,” said Craig, smirking while squeezing Tweek’s hand, considerably warmer than it had been the past couple days. “They’re just mad that they can’t make ten million dollars off of our relationship. Not that they would have anyway, because they’re stupid and never follow through with anything ever.”Welcome to Tweek and Craig's first Valentine's Day as a couple.





	Hallmark Hullabaloo

**Author's Note:**

> “So it's not gonna be easy. It's going to be really hard; we're gonna have to work at this everyday, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, everyday. You and me... everyday.”  
> ― Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

February first. 

Craig was counting down, whether he liked it or not. 

The reminders were everywhere, and scrutiny from his peers reached another high. It wasn’t like Valentine’s Day was of utmost importance to him, even now, while he was happily taken. That was too gay even for him. Even so, the buzz about it started with the girls, and it started right after Christmas. The Asian girls were feverishly drawing Tweek and Craig and putting them on Valentine cards. And selling them! It may have occurred to Craig once or twice that he and Tweek could demand royalties for this. That was his image and his private life those girls were making bank on, and they never even asked his goddamn permission. He felt like that ought to make him mad, but mostly, he didn't care.

This wasn’t just a school thing either. Apparently that was the hottest item being sold by small vendors in all of South Park, possibly all of Colorado, right now. Creek, they called it. So much for grannies and their crocheted hats. Facebook was exploding with praise over those stupid Valentines. At least fifty were sold on Etsy. Creek cards were such a hot item, and the following grew so quickly, that there were rumors about the Hallmark company coming to town, hoping to buy the Creek brand off the Asian girls. Would they accept that offer? If so, could Tweek and Craig sue the Asian girls and Hallmark if that happened, again, without their permission? 

Craig had no idea, and again, didn’t care enough to pursue it. It pissed him off, sure. It was an invasion of privacy. It was embarrassing. It made very little sense to him to this day. And, most of all, it was a constant reminder that his very existence was but one of billions and billions of minuscule star particles of the overarching cosmos created solely to be someone else’s novelty plaything. He wasn’t a living existential crisis at all. At least not most of the time. 

Come what may, in the grand scheme of things, taking legal action against the Asian girls required work, and that’s where Craig caved and choose to ignore it instead. He had control over how much he cared, if nothing else. Not caring was a hell of a lot easier than anything else. 

Heck, he didn’t even know why he was thinking of any of this at all. Honestly, none of this would have even occurred to him if Stan and Kyle hadn’t approached him earlier about it, but he supposed it was something less urgent and worrisome to chew on than what had been on his mind previously. 

“Dude, those chicks are stealing your image!” said Stan, far more indignant than he ought to have been. After all, this had absolutely nothing to do with him, yet there he was. Outraged on Craig’s behalf. Almost like, oh, almost like that was HIS money the Asian girls were after, and not Tweek and Craig’s. Oh brother. Here we go again! Craig could smell the bullshit from a mile away, but whatever. He didn’t care about that today either. Besides, nothing would come of it if Craig didn’t let it. 

“You should be making that money, dude. Not them,” said Kyle. 

Yup. Knew that was coming. 

“You should issue them a C&D-” 

Nope. 

“-and if they refuse, you should get in touch with my dad.” 

Not a fucking chance. 

“He’ll make sure you and Tweek get compensated.” 

Don’t care. 

“Every penny you’re worth, dude.” 

Liar. 

“Hell, he could probably help you copyright yourselves, so those girls would have to fuck off.” 

Copyright themselves? Like they were a couple of fictional characters in some rocky, redneck, buttcrack little Colorado town? Like anyone would ever watch a show set in Colorado. Might as well watch grass grow. And hey, speaking of grass, now that the entirety of Denver was a cloud of pot smoke, everyone better tune in to “Pearls of Wisdom: The Stoner Hour," a public access network, hosted by Towelie, the towel. 

And. 

Oh! Perhaps Tweek and Craig were even created by one or two dorks who met in college, and spent the past twenty years tripping on acid and shooting the shit in some swank California studio, where their show would be featured on some otherwise shitty comedy channel. These dudes would even go to the trouble animating it, voicing fifty billion characters, and calling their show “That Asshole Stan and His Awful Friends Are Always Wrong and Nobody Likes Them” but because that title is too long, they instead call the show “South Park” because they’re boring like that. Boring is something Craig can appreciate, though, especially because his creators, gods, dads, whatever you want to call them, are laughing all the way to the bank, all because Cartman got an alien anal probe that one time. 

Copyright themselves. Fucking dumbasses. What kind of fool did these assholes take Craig for anyway? 

“Maybe,” Craig lied. It wasn’t a maybe, it was a no. “Or maybe, just maybe, I don’t care all that much, and you should find some other stooge to rope into another one of your crappy get rich quick schemes. Between crack babies, fucking Peru, and that recent Netflix original bullcrap that almost ruined my relationship with Tweek, I’m fucking good right now.” 

“I think that’s very noble of you, Craig,” Wendy chimed in, much to Stan’s dismay. They were teetering on dating for the umptillionth time. That was obvious, too, despite Stan’s crowing about money that wasn’t even his to begin with. If she was morally opposed to most of his crap, then she was doing herself no favors repeatedly falling into his lap. “This is bigger than money. If Hallmark buys the Creek brand, that opens a whole new door for same sex couples having Valentines they can connect with. LGBT representation is important and-” 

“But mostly,” Craig interjected. “It’s easier to not give a shit.” He wanted to make it abundantly clear that he wanted no recognition for improving society as a whole. Why? Because he wasn't doing jack shit and he deserved no such accolades. This was the type of shit Wendy pulled that annoyed him, but unlike the guys, she saw the gates in his eyes swing shut and took the fucking hint. 

Wendy sighed and stopped talking, leaving their table to sit with Bebe instead. Good for her. Maybe she’d get smart, stop wasting time with Stan, and hook up with Bebe. At least half the school was totally gay or bi, so who would even be surprised?

While those other assholes grumbled among themselves, Craig winced upon biting into one of his cold French fries. That was another unpleasant reminder. The new cafeteria chef was hot garbage compared to the real Chef. May he rest in peace. 

“You should give a shit, though,” said Stan. “It’s your money.” 

“No. It’s money that you say is mine, but what you really mean is you think a cut of it is yours," said Craig. “You always pull this shit, Stan, and I’m not taking the bait this time. Fuck off." 

“Dude, it would be so simple, though,” said Kyle.

“Don’t care. Not listening.” 

“So you would let some thirsty chicks take YOUR image, claim it as their own, and sell it to some big corporation, just because it’s ‘easier’ to not give a fuck?” said Stan. “Dude, that’s stupid.” 

“No, it’s simple," said Craig. “I don’t care, and therefore I’m not doing jack shit about it. The End." 

“You’re not thinking with your brain, Craig,” said Cartman. “I mean seriously. What kind of impoverished hell of a life are you planning on building with Tweek, anyway? Renting the garage at Kenny’s house?” 

Cartman burst out laughing. He was the only one, though. Even Butters couldn't be coaxed to laugh along, because unlike Cartman, he actually liked Kenny.

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” said Stan.

“Yeah. That was your friend who died two hours ago,” said Kyle. “How could you be so heartless?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The same way butt pirate here has a one track mind and doesn’t want to get his hands a little dirty for the sake of his future with Tweek,” said Cartman. “It wouldn’t even take any effort. Kyle’s dad’s a Jew, for fucks sake. He’ll bleed money out of those bitches like-”

“Don’t you DARE finish that sentence!” said Kyle, ready to pounce. Craig rolled his eyes, and pushed his tray away. He didn’t care what anyone said. Cold French fries were NOT edible, and the content of this discussion was also killing his appetite.

“Oh, you know me," said Craig, rolling his eyes at their antics. “I like to keep it nice and simple. No crazy adventures. No pyramid schemes. No pointless accolades. Just... the Asian girls can do whatever. I don’t care. I haven’t cared for a long time and I’ll never care again. And so fucking what? I have enough on my plate already, like these shitty French fries, for one.”

Besides, what would Tweek and Craig even do with the Creek brand? Let it sit and rot? That'd be a shame. The Asian girls were the ones with the drive, the marketing skills, and artistic talent. And they’re the ones who somehow had countless hours a day to pour into their obscure hobby. He couldn’t help but admire that, at least a little. Besides, Craig couldn’t even draw a stick figure. Tweek could kind of draw, but he never drew people. He always drew shit like ghosts, ghouls, gnomes, demons, monsters, aliens, or any abstract representation of the seemingly endless things in this world that scared the crap out of him. And then he crumpled his drawings up and tossed them in the trash as hard as he could, relieved just to get some of those nasty images out of his head. Some of those drawings were really fucked up, too. Poor babe. 

As far as Craig was concerned, he had no time to pursue some stupid lawsuit. Especially one suggested by Stan and Kyle. They always had the absolute worst get rich quick schemes, because they always backfired. The latest one just two hours ago, and Kenny died because of it. That was their friend, and his life went completely to waste. That’s why nobody at school liked hanging out with them. 

“Besides, I already talked to them,” Craig said, another half truth. He hadn‘t actually spoken to any of them since before he and Tweek hooked up for real. “But they don’t really speak English, so I have no idea what they’re thinking. And it just so happens that I don’t care, so it all works out in the end.” 

“Dude, Craig,” said Cartman. “You and Tweek are like the hottest thing in town. You could make like ten million dollars easily. Think about it. Girls touch their va-jay-jays to you all the time.” 

Craig gagged. “Are you trying to make me throw up?” Cold fries were bad enough going down. “That’s the last thing I want to think about. Ever.” 

“OK, whatever. I’m sure some dudes yank their wieners to you, too, if that’s what you’re into.”

Craig flipped him off. 

“Oh yeah, fatass? Like who? You?” said Kyle. Stan and Butters lost their shit laughing, and Craig got up and left the table without another fucking word. If Cartman and those guys said even one more thing pertaining to genitalia then Craig was going to lose his lunch. Fucking perverts. Fucking cold fries. Fuck everything.

It took him all of five seconds the sink back into his previous state of mind, and almost regretted leaving the table. Almost. Kyle lost him at “copyright yourselves” and Cartman repulsed him with genitalia. And Stan? That whiny douche needed to come out of the closet already. And stop dating Wendy Testaburger. And also stop hanging out with Cartman. He was so pretty, yet so dumb. Way too dumb. Craig wasn't into dumb guys. He liked Tweek. Tweek was the smartest guy in class. He didn't care if Kyle got better grades. Kyle wasn't smart in ways that mattered. He hung out with Cartman daily, for one. Maybe they were secretly gay together, or something. 

Gross. 

And that was the end of that train of thought. 

Again, with nothing outrageously dumb to distract him, he was already choking up again. Goddammit. He was so sick of this feeling. He hated crying, so he held it in this time. If he held it in long enough and it didn't go away, he'd eventually get nauseous. Fuck everything.

He didn’t even know why he bothered with school today anyway. Tweek didn’t. Well, couldn’t, to be fair. Turns out he’d been awake about ninety-six hours earlier that week, which was bad. Very bad. Even for Tweek, it was crazy. Four days. Craig had been up maybe one full day at most in his life and it SUCKED. 

Yesterday evening was the worst outburst Craig had ever witnessed in his life. It chilled him straight to the bone. He felt helpless, useless, and he slept like crap because of it, plagued with worry and the need to be there for Tweek, but his parents fucking said no. Of course they did. He should have disobeyed, but Tweek was (hopefully) asleep now, and Craig didn’t want to bother him.

This event gave him a whole new perspective on just how deep Tweek’s inner torment ran. Tweek was always candid about his feelings, figuring people would find out anyway, not to mention holding it inside hurt more, so why bother hiding it? Craig had seen him cry, panic, hyper-ventilate, sweat bullets, scream at the top of his lungs, and go on paranoid tangents about the most bizarre things, some of which were true, some not. It was hard to tell, and Craig was still learning. Those were all things Craig had come to know, expect, and accept. Tweek was like that for as long as anyone in South Park could remember. The rumors of abuse and torment brought on by Tweek’s own parents were staggering and always had been. Mostly, though, everyone and their grandma acknowledged the elephant in the room: the Tweaks gave Tweek too much fucking coffee on any given day and that was a major problem. 

And it really showed that awful night. Last night. Tweek was working in back of Tweek Bros. Coffee while Craig was up front doing homework. Once the shop closed they were going to watch some Lego Batman together at Tweek’s, and then Craig would go home. They spent a lot of days doing just this, and hey, Craig’s grades improved since he always had his homework done, so why not? His parents sure didn't seem to mind.

He knew Tweek was overtired. He knew Tweek hadn’t slept in like two days, or he thought it was only like two days. In the back room, though, a deafening screech ripped through the back door. It almost startled Craig out of his chair, and two other customers flew out of their chairs, asking where the shooter was. 

There was no shooter, though. Just one small, disturbed little boy in a tight, closed space that was stuffy, musty, hot, and the buzz of fluorescent lighting and rumble of crappy old machinery was enough to drive anyone up the wall. Combine this with Tweek’s four days of non-sleep, and wham! Hallucination time! As far as Tweek knew, he actually was surrounded by hives of killer bees, and the swarm descended upon him, getting in his hair, eyes, nose, ears, chest, fingers, toes. It was. It was fucked up. It took Tweek’s mother, his father, and both of the confused, otherwise kindly customers inquiring about the shooter to restrain Tweek and walk him out to the car, while Craig sat and watched in abject horror, a fact that weighed on him heavily. 

He was just a kid. 

This was an adult sort of problem. 

Usually it was the kids that solved the adult sorts of problems.

But Craig just fucking froze. He froze. He fucking froze. Why? 

Apparently mental breakdowns of such proportion averaged about 2-3 times per year for Tweek, something Craig was bearing witness to for the first time ever, and he was certain the stress of school and Valentine’s Day weren’t helping either. Craig saw the girls at school with their prying questions freaking Tweek out earlier that day, but Craig didn’t think to step in and tell them to fuck off. Why didn’t he tell them to fuck off? He could have at least done that, but Tweek seemed to have it under control. Tweek didn't like being mollycoddled, or patronized. Craig respected that, but he chose the wrong time to hang back and let it be. If only he knew. Why was he such a failure as a boyfriend? For fucks sake. 

So he had to watch four grown adults manhandle Tweek out of the back room and into the car parked outside, where he was writhing, thrashing, shouting, and claiming ‘they’ were in his eyes and throat. Stinging. Crawling. Endless buzzing. Craig wanted to get up and say something, anything, but he was frozen. Maybe it was for the best? He was prone to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and this was one of those times where he couldn’t afford to be wrong. He knew that, and still, he felt so goddamn guilty. He was powerless, eyes and mouth agape and Tweek was taken into the backseat of the Tweaks's car, driven off to the hospital by his mother. His father and the other two adults came back into the store, shaken, somewhat slashed and bruised, but otherwise they carried on like normal. 

“Ah. Don’t worry about Tweek, Craig,” said Mr. Tweak, a trail of fingernail marks drawn across his left cheek. Tiny beads of blood were poking out. “It was just a little anxiety, that’s all. The doctors will take care of him. You may even see him tomorrow at school, depending on how it goes.” 

Mr. Tweak placed a can of soda and a muffin beside Craig. A meager attempt at lightening the mood. 

“A little anxiety,” said Craig. “He thinks killer bees are digging into his eye sockets, and you say that’s ‘a little anxiety.’

“With all due respect, sir, even I’m feeling more than ‘a little anxiety’ at the moment.” That’s when he noticed his chest was in pain, his eyes were brimming with tears, and he wished he’d gone with Tweek. Why didn’t he get up and follow? What if Tweek needed him? Why was he frozen in place like this? What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“He’ll come around. The little rascal’s just under a lot of pressure. He’s never had a boyfriend on Valentine’s Day before.” 

“What?” said Craig, anger building by the second. He... he didn’t even know where to begin with how wrong that was. 

“Well yes. He’s been up day and night, talking about cupcakes and Ferris wheels, brewing himself pots of the latest morning dew roast all the while, which is sure to become a staple of the Tweek Bros. brand. Like a warm blanket on a gentle twilit balcony. Care to try a cup?” 

“Fuck you!" Craig hollered. “Maybe he wouldn’t stay awake for four days at a time and hallucinate if you didn’t make him drink so much goddamn coffee!” His voice was shaking. The tears spilled out before he even had a chance to contain them. “FUCK!” 

Craig gathered his belongings and slammed the door behind him, not even remotely apologetic. He didn’t care what Mr. Tweak thought of that. He hoped Mr. Tweak dropped dead. Stupid asshole. Fucking prick. All in a day’s work in the Hell hole known only as South Park.

Craig walked in the cold, dusty mix, beside himself, crying like a bitch and he just couldn’t care who saw. He tried to focus on the weather. It was that kind that doesn’t know if it wants to be rain, snow, or fog, so it manages to be the worst of all three at once. It was the type of damp weather where an umbrella made no difference. He walked home in it with his head hung low, and said nothing to his parents when he stomped up to his room, leaving a trail of ice and mud behind him.

He texted Tweek periodically. He had the urge to text frantically, but Tweek was already freaked out enough without the added bonus of Craig’s stress to pile on top of it. 

His heart said get the fuck out of bed and walk to the hospital, but his brain said no, and he listened to his brain that time. It turned out to be a good call, seeing as Tweek got back to him within the hour. His doctors prescribed him Ambien and sent them off. They already knew he had the worst insomnia in town, and the dreaded ninety-six waking hour figure that Tweek confessed to left a cold pit inside of Craig’s heart that carried him into the first of February. He, too, was sleepless now, and was trying and failing miserably to hide the fact that he was tired and occasionally crying. 

So no, in some ways, it really wasn’t cool that Tweek and Craig got no goddamn privacy at school. The damn pictures. Fucking Asian girls. Stupid Valentines. He hoped Tweek could stay home until this was all over. 

Tweek was at home on the first and the second. The third and fourth were weekend days, both of which Craig came to visit. They mostly sat in bed together and watched television while Tweek said little and melted into Craig’s side. His meds sapped the life out of him. He looked gray and depressed, and had very little to say. Craig wanted to hug some life back into him, but he didn't. He didn't want to overstep his boundaries. Tweek really wasn't himself, and for all that PC Principal was a pain in the ass, Craig still minded his bizarre lecture about affirmative consent from awhile back. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt Tweek.

On the fifth Tweek was back in school, prematurely if you asked Craig. Although he had slept good and plenty, he was really, really out of it. Craig looked up Ambien and wasn’t pleased with what he read about the side effects. Even if it helped Tweek sleep first and foremost, this couldn't last. It couldn't. 

“Tweek,” said Stan. “Tell your butthole boyfriend that Asian chicks are trying to screw you guys out of ten million dollars.” 

“Bluh...” said Tweek, who could barely keep his eyes open, let alone eat, talk, or argue. 

“What the hell is wrong with him?” said Kyle. 

“Mrrph drdrhfm mrrdrrumrh,” said Kenny, and every boy at the table laughed, except for Tweek and Craig. 

“You guys, you guys. Watch this,” said Cartman, pushing Tweek’s head repeatedly with his forefinger. "He's like one of those inflatable punching clowns." Cartman was trying to get a rise out of the smaller boy, but was given nothing but a flat affect. "A saaaaaaad clown." Cartman laughed, and Butters laughed, too. Tweek was practically a ragdoll, and had no words one way or the other about being poked and bothered.

Craig stood with his tray and bashed it against Cartman’s face faster than anyone could have seen coming, splitting the cheap plastic in two and sending one surprised Cartman crashing to the floor, covered in peas and gravy. Then Craig attempted to curb-stomped him in the nuts, but was held back by Token and Clyde instantly. Tweek sat there expressionless, while Craig was carted off to the counselor’s office and given a week's detention. For once, he exploited his elite PC status (that he never asked for, but fuck it, he was pissed) as one valued and treasured homosexual kid at the school. Craig was able to convince PC Principal that Cartman was hatefully harassing and gearing up to assault his boyfriend, thus successfully dragging that fat fuck right under the bus with him, and Butters too, for whatever reason. Craig didn’t know how Butters got involved and he didn’t care.

“Aww hamburgers,” said Butters. “When I get home, boy, my dad’s sure gonna let me have it this time.”

“Butters, riding Cartman’s coattails just to be on his level of South Park Elementary's social food chain is beneath you, and it’s not saving you from getting beaten up by bullies. Dump the dead weight,” said Craig. “That’s coming from someone who hates your guts, by the way” 

“W-why? What’s wrong with my guts?” said Butters. 

“Dude, you’re an asshole. You called Tweek crazy and a fag, and that’s why Craig hates you, Butters,” said Cartman, as though he’d done absolutely nothing wrong. Of course he was impervious to his own bullshit. 

“I did?!” said Butters. “Aww, gee. I don’t remember doin’ that. I’m awful sorry if I did.” 

“Yeah, like. You were sleepwalking and-”

“So help me god, I will fucking kill you if you don’t shut up!” said Craig, glaring pure venom through Cartman. That fat turd put up his hands and backed away, knowing that wasn’t a fight he was going to win. Might as well quit while there were only mashed potato chunks in his hair. 

“Anyway, don’t think me hating you makes you special, Butters,” said Craig. “I can count on one hand the amount of people in this school that I don’t hate.” 

“And that would be,” said Cartman, raising one finger at a time. “Tweek, Tweek, Tweek...” 

“Pretty much,” said Craig. 

“See. And this is exactly why, when the Hallmark Company comes and tries to buy the Creek brand, you need to be on top of that. Demand royalties, you pussy.” 

“If the tray from earlier wasn’t enough, you can eat this desk for dessert,” said Craig, gripping the sides of it. Other kids in detention were itching to see the fight. They could feel it in the wave of vague murmurs and the tension festering in the air.

“This is detention, mmm’kay,” said Mr. Mackey, flipping through his phone. Laughing occasionally. He never looked up once. “No fighting in detention, mmm’kay? Fighting in detention is bad, mmm’kay.” 

“Aww, don’t mind ol’ Craig here, sir. He’s just defending his koibito’s honor,” said Butters. “Like a true seme in boisu rabu. B-but please don’t tell my dad that I know those naughty words. I’m already grounded as is.” 

“Butters,” said Cartman, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Every inch of who you are sucks harder than Family Guy and Catcher in the Rye, combined.”

“You would know,” said Craig, which got Cartman on a wild tangent about how he was most certainly, utterly, and one hundred percent NOT a homosexual, especially not with Butters, and Craig needed to stop projecting like some kind of sick weirdo. Craig responded to that with the finger, and pulled out his phone so he could text Tweek. He could bash his desk into Cartman’s face, but like Butters, he was staring a grounding dead in the mouth when he got home. Might as well stop while his sentences were relatively minor. 

“u make it home ok babe?” Craig sent. He swallowed, and his heart was thudding the entire three or so minutes it took Tweek to text him back. 

“yeah..” Tweek responded. Immediately after, he texted, “feel like my head’s a black hole collapsing in on itself...” 

Craig sent him a frowny face and buried his face in his arms again. He was going to fucking cry. Again. God. Why was he so lame? He never hurt this bad. Not even for himself. Tweek, though. Tweek made him feel the damndest things. 

“There, there,” said Butters, patting Craig on the shoulder. “Tweek’s getting better. Otherwise he wouldn’ta been in school today.” 

“Ugh,” said Craig, sniffling. He had an image to uphold. He ought to swat Butters away and tell him to mind his fucking business at least. Instead, he kept his tear-strewn face down. If Tweek could afford to be candid with the various ailments that plagued his mind, then damn it, Craig could, too. He could show a little remorse for the other boy’s pain and suffering. He could afford to care out loud. What were a few tears, compared to hallucinating and being the center of a major spectacle in a public area? 

Thank god it didn’t happen at school. The adults here were absolutely useless. It would have been fucking Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Wendy, Heidi, and Butters manhandling Tweek in the midst of coming undone, while Cartman did his one good deed of the year and dialed 911. It was usually them coming to Butters’ rescue, or some random adult, or whoever else was on the brink of a full mental breakdown, after all. Would Craig have been useless and paralyzed then, too? 

The thought of this caused him to curl in on himself more, his bony arms circling his aching chest, his face bowed, red, and dripping with tears. Some of the girls in detention started to cry, too. Butters was still there, rubbing circles on his back and reassuring him, while Cartman was saying something, but God only knows or cares what. He felt like his lungs were going to collapse at any moment. He couldn’t breathe anymore. He wanted his mom. 

And that was pretty much the worst of it. Craig went home and did get a hug from his mom and dad. He didn't cry that time. He just needed to be close to another human being. Even the loss of contact with Butters was jarring, loath as he was to admit. 

On the sixth, Tweek came back to school, just as zombie-like as he was before. When Craig took his hand, it felt limp and cold. 

On the seventh, Tweek missed school because he had to go back to the doctor. Craig sat in detention, and said nothing to Butters, or Cartman. He just stared at his phone, waiting for a text that didn't come until eleven thirty that night anyway. He couldn’t go to Tweek’s house and see him because he was fucking grounded. But they texted, and it was kind of OK. Tweek assured Craig that he was fine. His meds made him seem like he was worse off than he was, and he’d be off of them soon anyway.

Craig hadn’t seen Tweek outside of school, so he asked if he’d been drinking coffee. Tweek said yes, but not as much. He cut back to drinking it in the morning, and immediately after school. Craig wasn’t wholly satisfied with that answer, but he supposed it wasn’t nothing. 

The eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth were all a slog. His detention and being grounded were both approaching their end, and Tweek was showing consistent improvement, which was the best Valentine’s gift Craig could hope for at this point. Tweek was even smiling a little at lunch, especially when Clyde brought up the newest Terrence and Phillip season on Netflix. Then they all ripped on Kyle for causing the president to nuke Canada, which got Tweek on a rant. “I fucking told you! Argh. Maybe you assholes wouldn’t fuck up and get innocent people killed so much if you’d actually listen to me for once.” 

“Yeah!” said Kenny and Butters.

“Says the douche who stays up for five weeks and sees killer bees and underpants gnomes,” said Cartman. Craig was gonna whack Cartman with his tray again, but Tweek threw his arm out and forbade it. He could stand up for himself this time.

“Fuck you, asshole!” said Tweek. “Those gnomes are fucking real and you know it! You saw them yourself! You hit one with a goddamn stick, you lying turd!!” 

“Nope, didn’t happen,” said Cartman. 

“It did too happen, fatass,” said Kyle. “We were there.” 

“Yeah,” said Kenny. 

“If anything makes Tweek crazy it’s the fact that the Asian girls get to sell the fucking Creek brand to Hallmark,” said Stan. “And you two dumbfucks did nothing about it. That’s your image, dudes.” 

“Oh, that’s right,” said Cartman. “You think having a bunch of dumb girls running wild with your image was bad? Try corporate America. Hell, Hallmark might even sue you for imitating their product now. But it was soooo hard to get in on that, wasn’t it? Bet you wished you cared now, huh?” 

“He’s got a point,” said Kyle. “You two really fucked up.” 

“Argh?!” said Tweek. “What? What are they talking about, Craig?” 

“Nothing at all, dear,” said Craig, smirking while squeezing Tweek’s hand, considerably warmer than it had been the past couple days. “They’re just mad that they can’t make ten million dollars off of our relationship. Not that they would have anyway, because they’re stupid and never follow through with anything ever.” 

“Hey, that’s not true,” said Kyle. 

“Don’t be such a dick, Craig,” said Stan. 

“Yeah!” said Butters.

“Fuck you,” said Tweek and Craig’s middle fingers. 

Tweek flipped off their teacher later on, too, so he and Craig could spend Craig’s last day in detention together. Mr. Mackey told them no cuddling in detention, mmm’kay, but then he resumed his phone call with Miss Conduct, and the rest of the room chit chatted, dinked around on their phones, and threw balled up papers at one another while Craig buried his nose in the crown of Tweek’s hair, hypnotized as always by the smell. Best detention ever. 

It was made even better by Butters, who took a picture of them and posted it on facebook. Craig made that his new cover photo, and told Butters he hated him less now, and for fucks sake, stop hanging out with Cartman so much. A flattened squirrel on the side of the road would make a better friend, or even the goth kids. Hell, maybe even the girls.

Actually, there was no maybe about it. Cartman was the worst person, and it would always be funny that Craig’s indecision about Hallmark pissed him off. That was worth more than all the money in the world. So was being Tweek's boyfriend. It really was the simple things in life that mattered most. 

The next day was the day before Valentine’s Day, and Craig asked his parents if he could spend the night with Tweek. It was hard enough getting them to agree to let him stay with Jimmy, Token, or Clyde ever since he’d come out as gay, but Tweek? That was uncharted territory. Potentially a hard no. It might even be a no from Tweek’s parents, who were laid back to the point of fucking their son over by enabling his caffeine addiction to potentially lethal levels. 

That’s part of why Craig wanted to stay with him. 

“He’s going to try to sleep without his Ambien tonight, and thinks if I’m there it might help,” said Craig. “We’ll keep the door open.” 

“That’s really not appropriate, Craig,” said Laura. 

“Why the hell is he taking Ambien? That’s for adults, I thought,” said Thomas. 

“Does he have a drug problem?” 

“No!” Well, yes, if caffeine counts. “It’s not like that. He hates being on it. He just wants to try not being on it. It’s his parents’ fault he needed it in the first place.” 

“Craig...” Laura couldn’t deny it. It was one of those facts of life in South Park that everyone knew and refused to talk about. Eric Cartman caused the death of Scott Tenorman’s parents and fed them to him in chili. Kyle Broflovski caused Toronto to be nuked by the unhinged president. Ike Broflovski had sex with a kindergarten teacher. Clyde Donovan has one ball and caused the death of his mother. Mr. Liu Kim wasn’t really Chinese. Kevin Stoley ruins everything. And, well. Tweek was aptly named, because his parents practically pumped caffeine and God only knows what else into his bloodstream at birth. 

Could they, in good conscience, deny Tweek a chance to rise above the nasty hand fate had dealt him? 

“No, Craig,” said Laura. 

It would seem that they could. 

“Wait,” said Thomas. “I think we should let him.” 

“What?” Laura and Craig said at once. 

“Well, think about all the good that’s happened. Craig’s grades got a lot better. He's a lot happier. He talks to us more, and spends more time with his friends.” 

“That’s true...” said Laura. 

“And he’s in detention a lot less. He’s already been grounded for the detention he was in.” 

“... yes?” said Craig, daring to sound hopeful. 

“But it’s not appropriate,” said Laura. “They're children, Thomas. They're not married. And I don’t want my son anywhere near Richard’s strange coffee, and I don’t want him experimenting with Ambien either. Can you imagine if-” 

“I won’t!” said Craig. “Christ, Tweek looked like the walking dead the first few days he was on that crap. He was cold, puking, miserable. I thought he was going to die. Ambien sucks!”

“This isn’t a risk I want to take,” said Laura, sighing. “Thomas?” 

“Let’s have some faith in the boy,” said Thomas. “He’s dated Tweek how long? And he still won’t touch coffee.” 

“Right. Because coffee sucks, too. It kept Tweek awake ninety-six hours, which made him fucking hallucinate about killer bees,” said Craig. “Have you ever watched someone hallucinate? It’s scariest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, and I couldn’t do shit about it. It still freaks me out. That’s why I’ve been crying so much. You think I’ve ever given a shit about fighting with assholes in my class, or getting detention? No! It hurts me when Tweek's in pain, damn it. I can't just leave him all alone.

“Let me just do this, just this one time. Please?” 

After a long pause, Laura said yes. By the grace of God, Jesus, and the entire hall of Super Best Friends, his parents said yes. Mr. and Mrs. Tweak were happy to have Craig, but he ignored them and went straight for Tweek’s room. Tweek was in their usual spot, the covers on Craig’s side already open and inviting. Craig took off his shoes and got comfortable, giving Tweek his full attention the moment he sat down. The light was off, but the television was on. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Tweek, pressing his cheek to Craig’s chest. “I-I don’t know if I can get to sleep anytime soon. I had coffee at like four...” 

“Shh,” said Craig, threading his fingers through the smaller boy’s hair. It didn’t matter. Four wasn’t bad. It was nine right now, and normally Tweek would still be pounding them down by the 16oz cup. There was improvement. There was an effort to shoo away old habits. It showed. Tweek didn’t need to explain. “Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day soon.” 

“Yeah. I’m, urgh! I’m sorry. I haven’t gotten you anything. I haven’t, I mean...” 

“I know. It’s OK. Hey,” he cupped Tweek’s cheek in his hand. It was hard to see him, even with the light of the television reflecting off of them. “I mean, this is going to sound really corny and gay, but like, the only thing I want right now is you.

“We’ll go buy some candy tomorrow, or whatever. Or we can wait until the day after when it’s cheaper.” 

“Yeah?” said Tweek. He cupped Craig’s hand in his own and kissed the palm of it. “Thank you, Craig. I... I was really scared, you know, after the whole, ah...

“W-what I mean is, I’m really grateful that you’re here. That you stayed with me. I would have understood if you didn’t want to, though.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?” said Craig. “It’s not your fault.” 

“Yes it is,” said Tweek. “I’m so... argh! I’m so fucked up. And I do it to myself. I know I shouldn’t drink coffee the way I do, but I’m scared! I’m scared to sleep at night. I see things when I close my eyes. My dreams freak me out. Sometimes I feel like, if I go to sleep, I’ll never wake up. I’ll just... I’ll just cease to exist, and no one will remember who I was, and I’ll be sucked into some void for all eternity. Just, so much stupid shit. I hate sleeping, but I hate being awake, too, because I sleep so little that I totally fuck myself and, well, you know. You were there.

“God,” said Tweek, hiding his face in Craig’s neck. “I’m so fucking embarrassed.” 

“Don’t be,” said Craig. He realized that was easier said than done. He was still embarrassed that he cried so openly in detention. That Butters had to rub his back and talk him down from total despair. That Cartman, whom he had assaulted and dragged into detention with him out of spite not three hours prior, saw him so shaken and vulnerable that even he backed off. And although such an occurrence would once be unthinkable to Craig, the instant death of his carefully crafted reputation, it was like nothing at all. His classmates said nothing about it. His friends only made an effort to cheer him up. Even the Asian girls stopped him in the hall and gave him Hi-chews and ginger candy. The latter was gross, but he brought it with him in case Tweek liked it. 

Their classmates weren’t so bad. They sucked in a lot of ways, but that was nothing. It really was nothing. He’d once had a mind full of crap and a heart full of nothing but his guinea pig and the Red Racer cartoon. Then Tweek came and filled the rest of it, and everything else in his mind was a pointless blur at this point.

Then the eleven o’clock news came on, where they replayed the story of the Asian girls signing the Creek brand over to Hallmark. Both boys watched as their image was sold for ten thousand dollars, no fucks given.

“I told those stupid assholes it wasn’t worth ten million,” said Craig. 

“Why is it even worth ten thousand?” said Tweek. “I mean, it’s priceless to us, but like, are America and Japan really that stoked on us? There are other gay couples. Not a whole lot, but a few. I think. I make most of them up in my head, honestly.” 

“I don’t know our monetary value, and I don’t care,” said Craig. “Who knows if we’ll even recognize Hallmark's version of us in a few years? I can't see them hanging on to that whole anime yaoi style for long.”

“The resemblance is already super vague at best.” Tweek twitched. “I mean, look at it this way. They wouldn’t have made all that happy anime art if they knew what our past week actually looked like. Right?”

“No, they knew. And they gave me this to cheer me up,” Craig opened his backpack and handed Tweek some ginger candy. “I think it’s gross, but maybe you’ll like it.” 

“Oh wow!” said Tweek, popping three of them in his mouth at once. Craig tried not to gag. One was way too much ginger for him, let alone three. Then again, Tweek didn’t give a shit about strong, or bitter flavors. Came with the territory of being a total guinea pig for his dad’s shitty coffee. “I love these. Thank you.” 

“Thank the Asian girls,” said Craig. “Without them, it would have taken me a hell of a lot longer to admit to myself that I was gay, let alone try to date anyone. We might never have gotten together.” 

“Yeah,” said Tweek, smiling. “I never thought about relationships and my sexual orientation before. I was too freaked out by everything else, but like, my world feels so much bigger now. More open and free. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, I think.” 

"Me too,” said Craig, leaning down and kissing Tweek on the lips. The hint of ginger tasted a lot better on Tweek’s lips than it did in his mouth. “Happy Valentine's Day. I love you, Tweek.” 

“I love you, too, Craig,” said Tweek, and they turned off the television and burrowed under the blankets, pressed close to one another. Tweek was asleep within minutes, and Craig’s heart was so full of warmth he just basked in it, for as long as he could stand to stay awake. 

Then the big fourteen came, and Tweek and Craig went to school together, all smiles and no cares. It came as a pleasant surprise to them both, each receiving pink envelopes with chibi kitties and kanji and hearts drawn on them. When they opened their envelopes, each contained a card with the words “ありがとうございます -Arigatōgozaimasu!” more chibi faces, and, most notably, one thousand dollars cash.

Each. 

To each, a ten percent cut.

That neither of them expected.

That neither of them asked for. 

“Wow,” said Craig. 

“I-I know!” said Tweek.

“Is anyone looking?” 

“No.” 

“Good. Let’s hide it in my bag, quick,” said Craig, and placed both envelopes in Craig’s bag. On top of being ridiculously happy, they now had a secret. One that Stan and those jerks would never get to know and, on Tweek’s insistence, neither would Tweek’s parents. 

Craig’s mom, who worked at the bank, helped them open a savings account immediately after school, where they would safely deposit their money and let it build interest over the years. It was a decision so mind-blowing in its maturity that, the next time Craig asked to sleep over Tweek’s house, Laura couldn’t find it in her to say no. She didn't have to hope that they would never break up and fight over this money, because she knew they wouldn't. Somehow, she just knew. She'd witness countless couples fight over less, and still. She knew. Sure, Tweek and Craig would fight over plenty of other things, maybe have a few more petty 'break ups' here and there, but they would let this be. Call it a woman's intuition. Call it high expectations. Call it foolish, or even crazy. They were children. Who knew what the future would bring? Who knew how long they'd stay together? Yet, in ways as beautiful as they were bizarre, they fit together in a way most people could never comprehend. In ways most people could never hope, or dream to. It was like trying to conceive of the Universe as a whole. Something about their relationship was just so boundless. Timeless, even.

However, she only allowed them buy so much discount candy on the fifteenth. She still had to make some wise mom choices, at least.


End file.
